Page 167 of Wild Then Wed
I look too long. I don’t stop myself.
He glances down and catches me staring, my cheeks flushing immediately. I look away like I wasn’t just mentally listing all the parts of his beautiful face I’d paint if I still painted people.
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” he says, nodding toward the skyline.
I blink, pulling my gaze toward the view again. “Oh, yeah. I never knew the city could look like this.”
His shoulder brushes mine as he shifts again. “Have you been to the city much?”
I shrug. “Sometimes. Not really at night, though.”
In the city, I always felt off-tempo. Like I was standing still while everything else moved too fast—people brushing past, lights flashing, voices rising, all of it just out of reach. I was there, but not in it. Like life was happening through a window I couldn’t open.
But up here, everything slows. The noise fades into something softer, the lights blur at the edges—golden and quiet and beautiful. For once, it doesn’t feel like it’s pulling away from me.
“I’m used to Summit Springs,” I say, leaning into the railing again. “You know. Wide open spaces. Dirt roads. Miles of nothing but land and sky and livestock that outnumber the people.”
He smiles at that.
“And I love it,” I add quickly, because I do. It’s home. It’s where my roots are buried.
“But this,” I say, looking out at the glass towers and blinking billboards, “this is kind of special, too.”
Everything about this—the endless skyline, the glass towers reflecting gold against the night, the silence that somehow lives in the middle of a city this loud—makes something settle in my chest. Not in a quiet way. In a brave way. The room, the view, the night itself—it gives me permission to step outside of myself for a second. To stop thinking so damn much and justdosomething without checking the rulebook first.
I turn to Sawyer. “We should open that champagne.”
He looks at me sideways, one brow arched, the start of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah?”
I nod once, my pulse already picking up, though I pretend I’m completely at ease. “Yeah.”
He glances down at his watch—which is polished and expensive in a subtle, generational-wealth sort of way. I shouldn’t be surprised. “It’s nine o’clock.”
I roll my eyes, step closer, and nudge his arm with mine. “Exactly, grandpa. We’ve still got time to have a little fun.”
I hold my fingers up, thumb and forefinger barely apart, to show just how little. Sawyer lets out a laugh, and it warms the air between us and does something traitorous to my stomach.
Without saying anything else, he slides the glass door open and gestures toward the room. “Lead the way.”
I walk back inside, the sudden warmth of the suite wrapping around me. Hank is completely passed out on the velvet couch,belly-up and snoring, his front paw twitching like he’s mid-dream. I glance at him with a smile and head toward the champagne sitting in its chilled silver bucket.
The bottle is sweating, elegant in a way that feels unnecessary and perfect. I grab it carefully along with the two glasses perched beside it, then turn to face Sawyer again.
“We should take it out to the jacuzzi.”
His mouth curves, slower this time. “Wren Wilding. You’re living large tonight.”
I let out a soft laugh, maybe a little breathless. “We’re only going to have this view for a couple of nights. Might as well enjoy it.”
He raises both hands in mock surrender, but his expression shifts—something warmer hiding just beneath the teasing. “Hey, I’m not complaining. I like it.”
I look down, swallowing the ridiculous smile threatening to spread across my face, and pretend to fuss with the bottle instead.
I catch sight of the bubbling water through the glass door again, and that’s when I’m grateful that I remembered to pack a swimsuit. I’d stuffed it into the side pocket of my bag without thinking much about it. I wasn’t expecting anything fancy. I’d thought maybe, if we got lucky, there’d be a tiny hotel pool hidden somewhere on the lower level. Chlorine, cold tile, kids screaming. Notthis.Not a private jacuzzi on a balcony eighteen stories above the city.
Sawyer grabs his swim trunks and disappears into the bathroom with a soft click of the door closing behind him.
I walk over to my duffel, unzipping the side pocket where I packed my one-piece. Black, high neckline, full coverage. Not exciting, but reliable. A swimsuit you’d wear around in-laws or to summer camp.
